Lost Gods and Godlike Men
by eldritcher
Summary: Severus loves a man enough to betray him. Abraxas plays matchmaker. Narcissa swears.


This forms a triad of sorts, in the loosest sense, along with "Childe Harold's Tale" and "How do you like your blue-eyed boys?"

* * *

Narcissa's waters had broken in the middle of the night. The two previous miscarriages and the poor physical state of her body had both Lucius and I worried. When the midwife had come to us saying that Lucius once again would have to choose between wife and babe, he had collapsed against me in despair. I was frightened beyond speech and awkwardly patted Lucius.

It was then that the Dark Lord came to us. He had taken one look at us, made his way to the midwife, spoken with the scared woman in sharp, business-like tones and then entered the birthing room.

"What is he going to do?" I whispered to Lucius.

The Dark Lord meant death, not life. I was frightened for Narcissa. Surely, her screaming had increased once the Lord had entered? Lucius had rested his head on my shoulder and murmured that he trusted the Lord. It made sense to trust the Lord in a battlefield, but it was ridiculous to trust him with this. I motioned the midwife over, asked her to manage Lucius and hurried inside after the Dark Lord. For a moment, I halted. There was so much blood. And the Lord was bent over Narcissa's screaming form, one hand on her hip and another in a place unmentionable. What was he doing to her? So much blood.

"My Lord!"

I was Silenced. I was torn between closing my eyes to spare myself and watching the Dark Lord.

"You bastard!" screamed Narcissa then. "Stick your fucking fingers somewhere else!"

"There, there," the Dark Lord said calmly. "Bear down, will you? The right shoulder is caught, I suppose."

"I can't! Severus! Get him off me!"

"Severus, help me bring her to a squatting position?"

I glared at him.

"Now."

I wanted to throttle him, but Narcissa's screams frightened me and I looped my arms about her and eased myself behind her to support her against me. I looked over her shoulder once and had to fight down my nausea when I saw a bloodied expulsion that must be the baby's head.

"Good! Now take deep breaths and push, Narcissa," the Dark Lord said cheerfully and he went back to inspecting the warzone between her legs.

The sick bastard enjoyed this. I shook my head and rubbed soothing circles on Narcissa's back. She was screaming curses that were too lurid to repeat in polite company. She threw her head back and her body convulsed.

"Deep breaths," the Dark Lord reminded her.

"You are insane!" Narcissa shouted as she obeyed him. "It burns, Severus! I want the midwife!"

"You are losing too much blood," the Dark Lord remarked. He spun his fingers in an intricate shape in the air and I gasped as he conjured a pair of what looked like tongs.

"Forceps, Severus," he said absently.

"Don't you dare bring torture things near me!" Narcissa yelled, trying to kick at the Lord even as he began doing something I was very glad not to look at. The flimsy gown Narcissa wore bunched under my fingers and the stench in the room assaulted my senses. Lucius entered the room then. He took one look at the scene before choking and running out. I did not blame him. There was a series of squelching sounds nearly smothered by Narcissa's screaming and the Dark Lord was chuckling. Narcissa's screams died down and she began laughing hysterically in between sobs and curses. A shrill voice joined the chorus. I looked over Narcissa's shoulder with wide eyes.

"Severus, come here," the Lord ordered.

I eased Narcissa against the headboard and joined the Lord on the other side.

"All yours," he said, waving at the crying baby. "For such a little creature, it has a dragon's lungs, doesn't it? I will send Lucius in."

I took the babe into my hands and brought it closer to Narcissa. She grinned at me and began cooing softly at the child.

"You have been unnaturally silent," the Dark Lord said as he reached the door.

I glared at him. He raised his eyebrows and undid the Silencing spell before leaving us.

"Where is the coward I married?" Narcissa demanded.

"Here, here," Lucius rasped as he came in, bringing with him the stench of vomit. He was staring in amazement at the squalling child. "I have discovered religion today."

I laughed and said, "I will leave you now. Do you want me to send word to anyone?"

"The House Elves will do it," Narcissa said, gently taking the babe from me. "Go and take a bath, Severus. And return that contraption to the Dark Lord."

The forceps were still on the bed. Lucius was staring at them suspiciously. I grinned and winked at Narcissa before taking the forceps and leaving them.

* * *

"You left the forceps behind," I told the Dark Lord when I found him in the study.

"Vanish them. My profession does not usually require an expertise in midwifery."

"Thank you for coming, my lord," I whispered.

Lusty cries of the newborn babe resounded in the manor. The man standing before the fire inclined his head in acknowledgement. His gaze remained locked on a posy of bluebells that had been placed in a vase. Bluebells were not Narcissa's preferred choice for flower arrangements, but Lucius insisted on keeping a vase of the wild flowers in his study.

"Did he like the idea of grandchildren? He was very excited about Lucius's marriage," I said cautiously, curiosity spurring me on even though I knew it was not a wise decision. For a long moment, I thought I had escaped his wrath since it did not seem as if he had even heard my question.

"I hardly have any idea of what his opinions were on grandchildren," he said slowly. "You might want to pose Lucius this question. He is surely the best authority to know the answer."

"I wouldn't say that," I said softly, looking at the vase of bluebells. He had moved closer and was tracing the edges of a flower with a finger.

"Severus, Severus," he murmured. I decided that the tone was three parts amusement and one part exasperation. Not too dangerous, then.

"Do you know why I Silenced you in there? You are a persistent, annoying bastard," he said. If it had been anyone else saying those words in that tone, I might have called it an endearment. As it was the Dark Lord, I did not think that was likely.

"My parents were married," I responded. "Going by the rumours in the ranks..."

I wondered if I dared touch what was likely to be a very sore point. Lucius blamed my age for my recklessness. I was nineteen and drunk on power. I constantly tried to push the Dark Lord's limits of patience despite knowing what a deadly game it was. Lucius, if he had heard this conversation, would have fixed me an appointment at St. Mungo's to affirm my state of sanity.

"In a daring mood, are we?" the Lord wondered. He did not sound as if his temper was fraying. "Will you never learn that too many questions are dangerous for your health?"

"I had not the chance to ask a single question in any of my classes at Hogwarts," I said. "I might be making up for lost time."

"You realise this is as ridiculous as Bella saying that she was a sorely neglected child and wishes for my paternal affection," he remarked. There was the ghost of a smile as he turned to face me.

"She wishes to get into your pants, my lord," I said dryly.

"My knight will guard my honour, I am sure," he said, not startled at all by the crudity of my words.

He was a strange man. While insinuations about his parentage and his manhood were rumoured to be his sorest points, I had not found him entirely devoid of humour when the subject was touched upon, at least when he was in company he tolerated.

"The very picture of you veiled and gowned, waiting for your knight to despatch to ignominy the lecher who dared covet you – it would suffice to kill Dumbledore. In fact, it would have despatched me to my end, if I weren't used to your perverse brand of humour."

His eyes sparkled and he said wryly, "You must enlighten me what terrifies you about that picture. Surely, I have the better bone structure to carry off a lady's attire than either Dumbledore or you."

Every time I thought I knew him well enough, he came up with something as atrocious as this and set my calculations in flames, and gave me nightmares into the bargain. How would I ever look at Dumbledore or his Chocolate Card without thinking of his bone structure and its inability to carry off a lady's attire? I looked at the Dark Lord. He had folded his arms over his chest and was leaning back against Lucius's desk. His gaze was again on the vase of bluebells. I took the distraction to study him. He had put on weight. I would estimate it at three pounds or so. He looked healthier. The last time I had seen him, I had noticed his ribs protruding against the wool of his robes. I was relieved to see that now he seemed simply bony as opposed to emaciated. I wondered where he had been. Yaxley had said it was Turkey. The Dark Lord travelled widely. In fact, he was barely in the country that he had no permanent residence. Abraxas had once told me that the Lord had no residence at all. That seemed sad, seeing that I had at least the hovel at Spinner's End to return to.

"Where do you live?"

"My dear Severus, when the time comes you may write my biography. There, does that satisfy your hunger to know more of my sordid life?"

I hated it when he used that indulgent tone. It implied that he thought me childish.

"I had merely wished to know," I said sullenly. "Forgive me if I was concerned by the thought of you homeless in winter."

It was the truth too. I had heard Lestrange saying that the Dark Lord lived in caves by the seashore. I did not care for that at all. Nor did I understand. Someone as powerful and revered as he was should at least have a roof over his head.

"I hardly need material comforts, Severus," he said, interpreting my brooding correctly.

"You don't like the cold," I pointed out.

"True," he admitted. "Like you, I have not ever had the luxury of having a layer of body fat to insulate myself in cold weather. It is surprising that you don't suffer to the same extent."

"My warming charms are very good," I said smugly.

He raised an eyebrow but refrained from comment. If his upbringing in the orphanage had been during the times of the Second World War, I understood why he felt the cold so easily. Those had been difficult times. I had heard of men killing for grain and coal. The poverty he had to endure in the summers must have contrasted sharply with the homeliness of Hogwarts. It might explain his preference for lit fireplaces and woollen clothes instead of Warming Charms. On bad days in winter, though, I had noticed him casting a charm on his clothes.

Why was he averse to a residence? Did he fear that he might be betrayed? Was it his paranoia that had him resolved to suffer cold nights in the wilderness? Was there a more unnatural reason?

"One of these days you might think yourself into oblivion, and where would I be?"

I scowled as I replied, "Dare I interpret that as you care?"

"When have I not?" he asked. I studied him. He seemed at ease, toying with me in his languid manner. During times like this, I found it hard to fathom if he was in earnest or merely running circles around me.

There was a soft knock on the door and Lucius entered the study. He looked wan and on the verge of collapse. Sweat soaked his robes. He caught sight of the Lord and quickly moved to him, bowing gracefully despite his exhaustion.

"Rise, Lucius. They are both well, I take it?"

"Yes, my lord. I am very grateful," Lucius murmured. "Narcissa has fallen asleep and the babe is with a house elf now. I hope that it did not discomfit you too badly, my lord."

"As much as I was shocked by your wife's swearing, I will make allowances for extenuating circumstances," the Lord remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. "What surprises me is your reluctance to enter a birthing chamber, Lucius. You have killed and tortured in my name. Is this more frightening?"

Lucius shook his head and moved to the cabinet.

"Brandy for me," I told him. "Calvados."

"No, you are not drinking that on an empty stomach," Lucius said absently, pouring us glasses of sherry.

The man was still too sharp despite his recent hysterics by his wife's birthing bed. Still, it had been worth a try.

The newborn began crying again. I wanted to go see it, but I thought it best to let an eager Lucius exercise his parental rights. I would have enough time later. Besides, the Lord was in a strange mood. And I felt reckless. The vase of bluebells had me burning with curiosity.

After Lucius had mumbled hasty excuses and the Lord had waved him off, after the door had closed behind him with a pleasant thud, I summoned my bravery enough to chance a speculative look at the Lord.

"You remind me of Childe Harold," I said, to test the waters.

He swirled his sherry around and met my gaze. I knew he would not drink the sherry. He had an aversion to it, though I knew not why. I wanted to know.

"Been reading Muggle literature, have you?" he queried, in a tone that reminded me of Dumbledore's indulgent humour exercised gently on those he considered beneath him.

"Does it surprise you?" I asked. I was treading in dangerous waters. I wanted to keep this conversation flowing though. I wondered where it would lead me to.

"To your grave, fool!" warned my sense of self-preservation, that sounded unbearably like Lucius.

"Curious today, aren't you?" he asked, drawing near. I gulped and managed to hold his gaze. Close to, the closest to him I had stood, I noticed that his eyes were slightly dilated. He had come from the Blacks. He must have enjoyed their port. It was known that he had a fondness for it.

_"Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,_  
_And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair."_

I drew a sharp breath and involuntarily stepped back when I heard his voice rendering word to music for the first time. I had known that he liked music. I had not known that he possessed such a fine singing voice.

"I am not a maiden!" I exclaimed, once his voice's web over my senses had broken.

He smiled at that, and asked, "A moth then? You are too comely to be one."

I was stung. I cared not for my appearance, and had heard enough insults about it from almost everyone whom I had known in life, including my beloved mother. Tobias Snape had been no comely man. Little surprise that he had not fathered a comely son.

"I am surprised that you could find nothing else than that to make mockery of me, my Lord," I said.

He looked disappointed and turned back to look at the vase of flowers. "_Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth_," he murmured.

"He was a handsome man," I granted.

So it was for this that I had dared be reckless. Here the moth stood, being compared to a handsome, dead man.

"Oh Severus, Severus! _Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs, some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings_. Why must you see venom where there is none intended?"

I felt my hands curl into fists. This had gone on enough. A Cruciatus from his wand was preferable.

"It is hard to believe, is it?" he continued, continuing to look at the bluebells. I wanted to burn them all.

"You said that I had not the bone structure to carry off a lady's attire," I muttered.

If Black or Potter had made a comment about my physique, I could have hexed them. I could not hex this man who stood before me, could I?

The Lord smiled at that. I was taken aback. It was one of those smiles – I had seen them not once after Abraxas had passed away.

"My Lord?" I whispered, and I might have choked on the words.

"You possess too manly features to carry off a lady's attire," he said, shifting his gaze from the vase to me. Amusement lurked there.

Recklessness clouded my better judgement completely then. I took a step forward and said bravely, "Kind of you to notice that, my Lord."

He cleared his throat and leaned back against the cabinet behind him. Then with his eyes still fixed on mine, he said quietly, "Careful now, Severus. _Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground_."

Bluebells everywhere. In the south of this Manor lay buried the man whom I had loved fiercely and resented equally. Abraxas had been the only parental figure I had known. Abraxas had been the only man who had made the Lord smile until today.

"_And Harold stands upon this place of skulls_," I whispered. "Good night, my Lord. I should retire."

I gulped, made a clumsy bow, and made for the door. He did not stop me.

* * *

That night was restless. I found myself wandering through the corridors, as I once had wandered through the corridors of Hogwarts. There had always been the risk that Gryffindors would find me and humiliate me with whatever scheme they saw fit to spring up on me that fine night, but I found myself unable to stay inside the safety of my dormitory.

"Perhaps I have always been a masochist," I muttered.

"Hardly, Severus!" exclaimed the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy. I wanted to burn it down. I wanted to weep. I think I mourned him more than Lucius did.

"Go away," I said, consumed by wretchedness.

"You should not leave, you know," he said gently.

He had been gentle of bearing, and of word. How had he been gentle with me too, though I had been uncouth of mouth and uncomely of appearance? Why had he died? My mother still lived.

"You should not have left," the portrait said again.

"He did not stop me," I said miserably. "Why should I have stayed?"

The portrait smiled. Looking upon that dear countenance was enough to make me groan and curl my fingers around its gilded frame.

"He is a strange man," the portrait said. "_But there are wanderers o'er Eternity, whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be_."

The Lord had wanderlust of the strangest sort in him. That much was true.

"I believe a basic principle of economics applies," the portrait continued. "Maximising personal motivation will eventually maximise your net gain."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Be selfish!" the portrait exclaimed, laughing.

I decided that I had had enough of his advice for the night. A draught blew through the corridors and my worn nightgown (yet another point that Black had mercilessly teased me about, after Vanishing it) bunched around my genitals. I righted it and walked on.

* * *

"Severus?" The Lord asked.

He was still in the study, nursing his untouched sherry glass, and looking at the bluebells. The fire was lit and it played games of shadows upon his profile as he turned half-about to greet me.

There was surprise in his gaze. Did I also see the faintest hint of approbation?

I walked into the room, closed and bolted the door behind me. He did not kill me. He had not killed me yet. I turned to face him.

_"'Tis to create, and in creating live,_  
_A being more intense, that we endow_  
_With form our fancy, gaining as we give_  
_The life we image, even as I do now."_

He stood still and made no reply to my words. I waited, increasingly desperate, for some sign. My courage had been after that reckless recitation now snuffed out completely.

"My Lord?"

My voice was quavering, my fingers were trembling and my harsh breathing was the only sound in that room. What had I done?

He exhaled and shook his head. There was equal parts pity and regret in his gaze.

"I apologise," I said brokenly. I had been mistaken. Abraxas had been mistaken.

"It is not required," the Lord said tersely. "Let us not speak more of this. I am not angry with you. You are a brave man. I am fortunate to call you one of my own."

He was being gentle. He was more gentle than Lily had been.

"I wish I was dead," I said sincerely.

I had not told Lily that, though I had wished it then too. She had been mocking. She had been outraged that I would dare desire her.

"That is quite enough!" the Lord said irritably, turning away from me. "I loathe fucking. You are a young man with quite the sexual appetite, from what I have heard. Severus, you are not an idiot! I suggest you take your pursuits to more suitable candidates. That is all. There is no need for such proclamations."

"Fucking?" I stuttered. "You said the word fucking?"

He laughed at that; his high-pitched laughter unsettled me deeply. I had never grown used to it. He had rarely laughed after Abraxas's death. Abraxas had known how to make him laugh. Abraxas had known how to make me laugh. Abraxas had been a wiser man than most.

"I grew up in London, young Severus. It had then been more sordid a place than it is today when you go searching for whores," he said patronisingly.

"You are fixated on my whoring," I complained, querulously.

I was young. I had a roof now, and food that was not spat on by my father, and clothing that consisted not of cast-offs donated from my father's church, and money still left over to indulge in whoring. Surely it did not merit such disapproval?

The Lord did not reply. This was to be the end of it. I could not bear to look at him. My gaze shifted to the bluebells. Abraxas had been a gentle soul. I doubted that his youth had involved whoring. I had often though that he had spent his youth getting fucked by the Lord. I wondered how it might have been between them. How had the first time been? He said that he loathed fucking. Perhaps he hated being involved in an activity that required such intimacy. He would have then sought to distance himself as much as he could. Had the Lord taken Abraxas on his fours?

"Such a fanciful mind, Severus," the Lord murmured now, shaking his head. He sounded weary.

And perhaps it was a trick of the light, for when he turned to face me, he looked saddened.

"I-"

I wanted to say something to alleviate that sadness, but I found that I was lost for words. I took a deep breath and walked forward. I had no idea what Abraxas might have done in such a situation. I was not him. I was never going to be him. And that was all right.

I walked forward and clasped those hands in mine loosely – the right hand had held the wand to my skin when branding me, and the fingers of the left had loosely curled over my shoulder in sympathy as I had groaned in pain.

He was still. Why had he not spurned my gesture and mocked me for daring? Lily had.

I dared more. I had little left to lose. I dared place my head on his chest. He was a tall man. His heartbeat was staccato, and it reassured me.

"Brave, foolish boy," he said then.

"Please," I whispered. "Please, my Lord. I don't understand."

"You do," he said. "You do. You are not as foolish as that, are you? You know whom you touch. I am not your Mudblood, Severus. I am not one of your whores. Would you die for the folly of this choice one day?"

"I swore to die for you when I took the Mark!" I said hotly.

"Dying for this is very different from dying for a cause, Severus," he said. "Love is dangerous."

He had spoken that word I had not known to voice. I cleared my throat and asked, "You sound like Dumbledore. He goes on about love."

"Do I now?" he asked teasingly. Then he continued in a more serious tone, "You are young. Dumbledore isn't. Nor am I."

"I hate Dumbledore! Let us not speak of him now," I begged.

"Sad, that!" exclaimed the Lord then. He continued to tease me saying, "I am quite sure he fancies you. You are his type – brooding, stubborn and powerful."

"I am not a pansy," I said irritably. "I just want you." He laughed at that and it heartened me. I went on, daring to tease him, "Besides, does that mean that he fancied you too? You must have been more his type than I am."

"I doubt it," he parried. "He likes buggery with partners endowed with strongly masculine features. He has, in the past, told me that I make a very fine woman."

I stepped back and looked at him.

"Dumbledore is batty," I said plainly. "You don't look half as womanly as Lucius does. It is just one accomplishment you will have to live without."

"Severus!" he said, laughing again. I delighted in causing it. The fire played over his strange features.

_Eldritch._

"There is something very eldritch about you," I said quietly, gazing upon his visage.

Perhaps Dumbledore was right. There was more beauty in this strange creature than was the birthright of men. Was there substance in the rumours that went about in the ranks? Was there some dark secret that had given him this unearthly visage? What had he done? I had heard Regulus speak of breaking the soul with murder. What had this man done?

It choked my ardour.

"What traps you now?" he mused loud. "You were forward enough scarce moments ago."

I shook my head.

"Not as foolish as all that, are you?" he tilted his head and looked at me.

"You are not human," I said softly.

"Not foolish at all."

Had there been a hiss in his voice?

"You should leave," he said quietly. "You are young. My temper is frayed. You should leave, Severus."

"Did Abraxas know?" I asked.

"You should leave. I will not warn you again."

I knew that the next word I spoke would likely buy me death. I looked at him. There was nothing in him that my fanciful imagination had suggested earlier. His wand was drawn and his eyes betrayed nothing. Yet...

"_Who would free themselves must strike the blow,_" I whispered.

Then I took my nightgown off, discarded it to the side, and I knelt before him, with my palms on my kneecaps and my head proudly raised. My life coalesced in that moment. It had been for this that I had survived my father's abuse, it had been for this that I had survived the Gryffindors, it had been for this that I had survived the werewolf, it had been for this that I had survived Lily's rejection.

"If you wish to be freed of me today, you will have to kill me. I will not leave."

"Will you never learn?" he asked, and there was despair in his tone. "Severus, will you never learn?"

I did not reply. He lowered his wand and bade me rise. Then he walked forward and gently curled the fingers of his left hand around my wrist, covering his Mark on me.

"Never learn then," he murmured. "Never learn, dearest Severus."

* * *

"I cannot-" I had told Abraxas's portrait once, broken and miserable. "He is mad and I know he will ruin everyone. Oh, Abraxas, he is insane. He must be stopped. Yet, I cannot-"

"Sometimes, betrayal is love too," the portrait had said quietly.

I had loved a man enough to betray him.

* * *

I betrayed Him.

Dumbledore thought that I betrayed Him to save the children who were my charges. The rest believed that I betrayed Him to save Lily's son.

"What about Voldemort's corpse?" Potter asks. "Shall I incinerate it?"

"No!" I tell him sharply. "Bury him with me, in the Malfoy estate, to the east, where the bluebells are."

Minerva and Potter look at me incredulously.

Later, Albus's portrait comes ambling along into mine and says, "You did right, Severus."

"Lucius might disagree," I said wretchedly, trying to cover grief and shame with wit. "He might object to turning that east field into a cemetery."

"_Land of lost gods and godlike men_, as Byron sang," murmured Albus.

I was startled. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. How had Albus known?

"Byron," Albus said patronisingly. He had lost none of it with death. "A Muggle poet. Tom might have known of his works. Tom loved literature."

"I loved him," I said wryly.

"I hadn't known until it was too late," Albus said.

"When did you know?"

"When you killed me," he said apologetically. "I could not resist peeking into your mind then. There was so much love and regret there, you know. Abraxas, Lucius, Minerva, Aberforth, Narcissa... and Tom."

"You were there too, you silly man," I said irritably.

"And I was quite surprised, and humbled," he said softly. "But, yes, that was when I knew. And Severus, I believe that he must have known it all too. He was not a foolish man."

I had often wondered if Voldemort had suspected my betrayal. I had often wondered why he had spared me until he hadn't. He had been insane. I had not expected to survive as long as I had. I had wondered and wondered, until one day, I had seen him speaking to Abraxas's portrait, shortly after he had decided to kill Lily's newborn son.

"Such a brave, foolish man," he had told Abraxas. "Such a brave, foolish man! He will be his death and mine."

* * *

_Note: Thank you for reading! I love to hear what you think of it. The verses are all from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, by Lord Byron._


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